Desiring Desperation
by Kyeltsar
Summary: Escaping captivity wasn't on her mind, but she didn't exactly have a choice. Kirkwall isn't exactly a friendly place, and the demon is the least of her worries...
1. Prologue

Dust is such a strange thing.

It appears seemingly from nowhere, layers building over hours and hours. A small nuisance, perhaps, though it stuck to everything. Hours sweeping, cleaning every little surface, every table, chair, cabinet that it fell upon, careful not to inhale. It stuck onto hands, the grime building up as it mingled with the sweat that came with the exhaustion. It would find its way into the oddest of places, the darkest of corners, unrelenting in its spread throughout the buildings. And yet, when it seems as if all of it has dissipated, brushed into the cool rigid wind of the Tevene winter, the night would pass, and it would appear again, as if it was mocking the world.

She accepted long ago that dust did not intend to mock her, ridicule her hours of cleaning, of service. The dust simply was, it existed, it didn't mean to be a nuisance to her. It knew nothing of the world, or at all. And besides, it was as much a prisoner to the wind as she was in this world.

Her thoughts were abandoned as she finished brushing off the dust on the cabinet, a small inspection following before she was satisfied. She looked around the room, carefully inspecting each surface, the smallest details accounted for. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, the smallest specks of dirt, nearly invisible, brushed away. It was a skill she had relied upon for the longest time, one she had needed.

It was one all the slaves needed.

She was shoved back into her room, the door slammed behind her with the clang of the physical locks and the soft invasive hum of the magical locks following shortly after. Slumping against the wall on her makeshift 'bed', she stared back at the blank space which had always greeted her at the end of the day's work around the mansion. She had been here for over ten years, and had shared this space with several others. At one time, there were four other slaves in the cramped, tiny cell. Escape plans were whispered around at night, the others usually ignoring the tiny girl sleeping on the hay. And sometimes, sometimes in the mornings they would be gone.

Down to the basement, their wails and screams penetrating the walls as she went about her duties. There was never any escape. And as she grew, the stream of slaves that trickled into her cell had all but vanished. Now all she had in her cell was a larger list of duties and the whistling of wind through the tiny gaps in the wall.

Her dinner was waiting for her after an entire day of household duties; a small piece of stale bread. Just enough to keep her from starving, but her stomach was always gnawing at her from the inside. She picked it up, inspecting it carefully for any signs of mould before chewing through it slowly. She stopped when she bit into a small raisin, a slight curl at the edge of her mouth. The baker must have dropped it in accidentally, and she cherished what little flavour it had to offer.

* * *

The luxury of taste was one she did not experience often.

On a good day, she would be left alone by the magister and any guests that he may have had at the time; Left alone to clean the mansion from top to bottom, to glance out the windows at the fading sun that signalled the end of the day and to curl up cold, lonely, but alive on the stone floor of her cell. On bad days, the magister would take out his frustrations on her. The pains, aches and bruises, she was numb to them all by now. Blood lingers for longer than pain, and the type of blood the magister worked with was more unpleasant to think about than the bleeding.

When she was jolted awake with the feel of cold metal latched onto her limbs, a blindfold over her eyes and senses assailed with what was unmistakably blood...

She wasn't entirely sure what this would be listed as, but it was very quickly turning into disaster.

'...ations are complete.'

'A hundred aren't cheap you know. Are you sure this is worth it?'

'That is just a drop in the ocean compared to what this could accomplish. Ready the slaves.'

The screaming began.

* * *

She wasn't sure what to expect when she woke up on the floor- disregarding the thoughts that she wouldn't wake up at all. Her eyes stayed sealed, wishing herself to fall back into the inky darkness of unconsciousness that would envelop her, keep her from thinking at all. The room was quiet, yet with her hearing slowly becoming clearer, sound slowly seeped into her surroundings. The occasional drip of liquid falling to the floor in a maddeningly inconsistent rhythm, and a muffled, sharp noise that she couldn't quite place- small reinforcements of her desire to return to slumber. She had a terrible, terrible feeling about whatever the sound was, and despite all of her common sense screaming at her to move, she lay still on the floor, almost childishly willing it all to go away.

As expected, it didn't.

The fog from her slumber finally dissipated, the increased clarity in her mind slowly turning to what had happened. Her Master's face, blood splattered across his face, spluttering as his last breath escaped him.

He wasn't her Master anymore.

He was dead.

The nausea, before unnoticed, suddenly hit her unprepared, her dulled senses finally returning when the smell of blood and death overwhelmed her and she tried, unsuccessfully, to hold off the vomit that was forced out of her. She rolled over clutching her knees to her chest, trying to ignore the pounding in her head as she tried to think...

It scared her.

It scared her more than the pain that was inflicted each week, her growling stomach screaming at her to be satiated... It scared her more than her tormentor. After all, pain was temporary. Stable, constant, yet temporary. She could deal with it. She had done it for seventeen long, drawn out years. She could continue doing that for the rest of her time. She could continue being a slave, easily. She could... She could...

She realised that this was the first time she had really thought her life through.

She realised that she was completely and utterly broken.

Strange. She thought the tears had stopped years ago.

But now...

What was going to happen to her now?

If- when they found her, they would see a crying slave covered in blood next to an assortment of corpses- including a magister. They wouldn't ask questions, and she would be off to a painful death. Could she escape? Through the back entrances of the mansion, through the poorer districts of the city, and out to the open roads? She knew there was a forest somewhere beyond the city limits, but she had never seen it herself. Would she survive there?

Of course she wouldn't. An elf running through the streets in rags away from a mansion? The common folk may hate the magisters, but they weren't stupid. There were bounties upon the heads of escaped slaves, and she knew that they wouldn't hesitate to pounce on a single elf...

Muffled noises roused her out of her thoughts; she focused upon the sound, a small distraction. The multiple walls of the mansion did an admirable job at keeping the sound obscure, until the loud squeal of an un-oiled door rushed into her ears, and voices began to shout out loud. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but she didn't need to know that to figure out what was happening. They were trying to find the magister. And when they did...

She closed her eyes and prepared for the inevitable.

_**'...Get up.'**_

The thought sounded in her mind, but she didn't want to obey it. It sounded foreign, a sultry, mysterious tone to it, like it shouldn't belong...

_**'Your mistrust is... justified, I suppose, though the pressing issue of escape is still at hand.'**_

Wait... That...

Her eyes rushed open, hands pushing her back against the wall behind her as she sat up... and yet the silent, still room stared back at her.

'Wh..where are you-' She stuttered, glancing around the empty room, hoping that her suspicions were off, that there was another explanation... And yet, the voice made a small sound of annoyance, echoing inside of her mind.

_**'Well, I would have thought that to be obvious by now. I'm slightly disappointed.'**_

She dug her hands into her face as the tears started to fall again, her damp hands failing to distract her from her thoughts. She was an abomination. Despite keeping control, at least for now, a demon resided within her. She didn't even know how such a thing was possible with her limited grasp on magic, picked up through the years from what little she could understand of the magister's ramblings. Even if she managed to get herself to a safe haven, somewhere the magisters wouldn't, or preferably couldn't recapture her, nobody would accept her- if she was lucky, they would lock her up again, with even more chains and security than she had as a slave, constantly watched over for any sign of danger. If not...

Compared to such a fate, death almost seemed like a nicer option.

And that was before even considering the implications of holding a demon inside of her! What if the demon wanted to hurt her? To take control, lock her in metaphorical chains tight enough to relinquish all control? Would she take control whenever it would be convenient to.. to... She didn't even know what demons did in this world, or why! Why did they try to possess bodies? Why did they try to cross to this world! How was she meant to know if she could trust the demon?

Only her discipline stopped her from screaming.

A small sigh resonated through her mind, before the demon started to speak again, a low, firm tone rushing through her.

_**'Look. I know you're scared right now,' **_the voice purred,_** 'but you're going to have to trust me. At least for now. The others are about to break in, and I am very certain you do not want to be here for that.'**_

She closed her eyes for a second, breathing deeply for a second before slowly standing up.

If the demon hadn't hurt her yet, taken control when she was so vulnerable... Well...

It was already better than slavery.

'O..okay.'

* * *

Two hours of stumbling through the forest, and the voices finally ceased.

Two hours of her legs burning as they clipped every small rock, every root in the ground, the cuts and scrapes starting to bleed.

Two hours of questioning who she really was any more.

She finally stumbled across a small hill, with half of it forming a roof of sorts. It was the best cover she had found, and the sun was about to set, so she went to gather a few small logs, stacking them like she did in the fireplace, and striking the small sparks to light the flames. She allowed herself a small smile before she took out a meal for herself from her bag; just a small portion of bread and meat, although small would imply that this wasn't the largest dinner she had eaten in years. She didn't have the luxury of any cooking utensils, so it would take a few minutes of carefully handling the food over the fire. Staring into the flames was a good way to calm herself, and calm was exactly what she needed. She needed the calm to think, to plan, to... decide.

_**'Perhaps now would be a good time to talk.'**_

She almost burnt her hand as the voice startled her.

'Okay...' she replied, eyeing the flames with slightly more attention.

_**'I understand that my kind may not be the most... trustworthy, correct?'**_

'Yes...'

_**'I believe the mage was attempting to discover if the inhabitants, for the lack of a better word, of the Fade were able to be pulled into the physical realm.'**_

'Isn't that simply summoning a demon?' she asked in confusion.

_**'Demons are... naturally attracted to summons, as summoning weakens the barrier between the realms. The taste of this realm is ever so sweet.'**_

She wasn't sure whether to be frightened or intrigued by that statement.

_**'This mage, however, was trying to forcibly bind a demon against its own will. Keep in mind that demons are not trapped by a mage when summoned; they chose to cross the barrier, they hold the power that the summoner wants. It takes a remarkably strong mage to gain what they truly wanted from summoning demons.'**_

'So he managed to bind you to... me?' she asked, confusion still etched across her face. 'Even if it had worked properly, I don't see how that would have benefited him...'

_**'You see, this was not his final goal. If he had not died upon his own magic, and I was still bound to you, you can be certain that he would have been able to contain us with magic. If he could pull a demon across against their will, then he could find ways to manipulate even the strongest of any of the spirits.'**_

A small thought occurred to her over the crackling of the fire and the aroma of her meal. 'How do you know all this?'

_**'It is not the first time a mage has attempted this; and I could feel the ambition radiating outwards.'**_

'But now you're trapped within me.' She said, taking her meal out of the fire before gingerly taking a small bite, the heat almost burning her mouth before she swallowed,

_**'I underestimated the mage's power; I suppose this is the consequence. Which brings us back to the question of what you are to do now.'**_

'I... I suppose escaping Tevinter would be the first thing to do.'

_**'And which way exactly?'**_

'Well...'

She hadn't thought that far.

She knew she had to start making these decisions... But there was so much to consider, so much to plan, so-

She forced herself to calm down. There was a large map framed in gold hung above the main fireplace in the mansion... Tevinter was at the northern end of the land... So she would travel south. South to... To...

The other escaped slave. Escaped to the Free Marches...

They had said that they had been searching for two years... If the other slave had lost the magisters there for years...

She could do the same.

_**'Conviction is always a good first step...'**_

She didn't know what to make of that.

The small cave was fairly unassuming. It dug into the mountain, like most caves would, and the inky darkness was all she could see. Apart from the rats. And the cobwebs.

It was hard getting a lead, but she had eventually cornered one in an alley who was all too eager to spill his secrets. She had observed the smugglers for a few days. Contraband arrived from all over, legitimate trades blending in with those done behind the counter. And it all lead back to Kirkwall.

From the outside view she had, Kirkwall made Tevinter look bright and cheerful. A remarkable feat, really.

_**'They're coming now.'**_

Nodding slowly, she ducked her head behind a large pile of rocks, peering at what she could through the cracks as the shipment of goods was delivered. The leader of the smugglers checked the packages over, the collection of various poisons, potions and assorted 'goods', before nodding in approval as the men hauled the packages inside.

And then the elf stared directly at her through the rocks.

'So, why are you here?'

Her legs ached from the hours spent kneeling behind the rocks, but she managed to slowly push herself up off the ground with a slight groan.

'How-'

'None of my men have footprints that light.' The smuggler stepped towards her, her voice lowering. Dangerous. 'Now again, why are you here?'

_**'I suppose we'll have to remember to cover our tracks better next time.'**_

_'Yes, best of plans, really. Follow a smuggler into a cave, it will be fun. Perhaps even antagonise a blood mage.'_

'Kirkwall. I want in.'

The smuggler stared her down for a bit, eyes narrowing at her voice. 'You're from Tevinter, aren't you? How long have you been running?'

_**'She's more perceptive than I thought a smuggler would be. Interesting...'**_

She hesitated before the words tumbled out. 'Three years.'

The smuggler smiled.

'Three years? Nice. I would have settled for six months at this point. Hard to come by people who can work without announcing it to the world.'

The smuggler rummaged through her pockets, then threw a small badge over to her; she caught it before she could overcome her surprise.

'Name's Athenril. Lucky for you, I've been hiring. Strict no slave-policy, a roof over your head and a share of the coin we earn. So, what's your name?' The smuggler asked.

'...Vivian.'

* * *

A/N: Updated to fix some grammar issues, should all be in past tense now. TBH I think I still want to change a few things in here but it'll do for now.


	2. Chapter 1: Not Most People

'WHO THE FUCK CALLED THE COTERIE ON US?'

Although she doesn't appreciate the yelling in her ear, Vivian definitely wants to know the answer to that question. The crates were all packed, the warehouse was about to be sealed, and she was certain that nobody was around the warehouse before they were ready to shift the goods out.

Perhaps certainty lost its meaning in Kirkwall.

Vivian looks around. A group of humans and dwarves are approaching from the front, shields up and swords out in front. A couple are trying to head through the shadows on the left railing and a few archers are stationed at the entrance, bows already drawn and ready to fire.

'Three archers in the back. Need them gone.' She orders her small group quietly. Four ragtag smugglers in an open warehouse against a full Coterie squad. Odds could be better. She pulls out her daggers, stepping towards the wall of shields and swords facing her as a vial slips from her grasp and drops to the floor. It cracks, and the thick smoke rises as she disappears into the chaos. Knives drawing blood, the coughs of the Coterie, and the occasional scream as her group goes to work. She would have been worried if she hadn't seen the unmarked, dirty clothing of her opponents, the sweating, nervous looks on the swordsmen's faces, or the archers hands fumbling for arrows in the quiver. These weren't the deadly assassins trained and employed by the Coterie, nor were they from the guards that pulled from discharged military forces.

These were the cannon fodder.

The Coterie expanded fast, reaching into the smallest cracks and grasping for the largest parts of the city. For most people working in the underbelly of Kirkwall, you were either with the Coterie, the Merchants guild, surrounded by mages, or dead. The beggar on the street with a dagger in his boot? The guard 'sleeping' on duty at the docks? Coterie.

Unfortunately for the Coterie, Athenril's group are not most people.

The warehouse is splattered with blood, and it'll be a bitch to explain to the owners. Not to mention the logistics of disposing of corpses. They're littered all over the warehouse and she tries not to step on any as she moves. Vivian is glad she was taken off corpse duty a long, long time ago. She supposes it's still mildly surprising how many corpses they do go through as smugglers, but it's been the only way that they've been able to survive. Not like they didn't deserve it either.

Vivian looks back at her people. The short human, Edward, is bleeding from a gash in his side, his sword clanging to the ground as he clutches his wound. His knees buckle, and he rolls onto his back before his face smashes onto the ground. She takes out a health potion and hands it over, the warrior accepting it with a small gesture of thanks before gulping it down. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he's able to walk again without trouble. That's good. She doesn't want to be responsible if someone's limbs decide to spontaneously fail.

She's still not entirely used to being in charge of operations, but Athenril trusts her, and Vivian trusts Athenril's judgement. She supposes that it's worked out so far.

Damian is the first one to speak up in the silence. 'Well, this could have gone better.'

Lorissa snorts. 'No shit.'

'Hey, least you two didn't get stabbed. That fucking hurt!'

The three descend into argument again. While it's mostly harmless, there's work to be done. Vivian coughs, and the three of them turn towards her. 'Drag the bodies over to the back corner and search them. Find anything good, hand it over and we'll look over it.'

They nod and go over to the dead Coterie as she inspects the crates in the corner.

Nothing seems missing, and with a quick count everything is accounted for. Some of the crates have blood on them, so she takes out a rag in her pocket and quickly rubs it away before it dries. It only takes a minute until everything is clean again. She's had a lot of practice.

Lorissa calls her from the corpses. 'We've got nothing Vivi. Just some coin and a shitty map someone drew of this warehouse. Coterie's getting better at this.'

She frowns at Lorissa as she gets up, gets ready to head back to Athenril and ask for help cleaning this mess up. 'Please stop calling me Vivi.'

* * *

Athenril generally doesn't let work get to her, but she gives herself this one time as she slams the door to her room, slumping down into her bed with her arms as a pillow. Staring into the ceiling doesn't offer a whole lot of insight, but she's already exhausted. They're barely breaking even this month, and their savings are drying up. Work hasn't been going well at all, and it's been obvious who's been interfering.

A third of the shipments they were meant to receive this week didn't arrive. One of the major cargo ships turned up on wrecked on the coast completely bare, stripped before even the scavengers or the city guard could get over. Two warehouses got raided; they could salvage one, but the other was lost. One of her people got caught by the Coterie alone in Hightown on an errand and she hasn't heard anything from him for the past week. Athenril would feel more sorry for the kid if he didn't literally waltz into Coterie territory at night drunk with a 'whore' feeding him cheap beer and leading him down dark alleyways, but at least he was decent at what he did. It's surprising how incompetent the average person is.

She at least takes solace in the fact that out of all the smugglers who didn't bend over for the Coterie, her little group is the only one left standing. Unfortunately, it also means that the Coterie don't have any other smugglers to worry about. It's becoming hard. She hires the best people, the people who can fight off ambushes five to one. The Coterie is satisfied with anyone they can get their hands on. It's still not enough.

Even the Red Irons got shut down last week. Meeran was an old bastard who didn't give a damn about anything but money and power, but he was strong, independent. Took contracts from everyone who paid well enough, and the thieves didn't take it well when their paws were cut off reaching for purses. One too many thwarted raids, one too many disrupted plans, and a dead Meeran in his bed with a knife sticking out of his throat.

She hopes she isn't next.

A knock on the door rouses her from her thoughts.

'Come in.'

The door opens with light, cautious steps entering the room.

'Is everything alright?' Vivian asks. You've been silent all week.'

Athenril doesn't get up, closing her eyes and taking a few moments to answer. 'Going to be honest Vivi, things aren't looking good. If our situation doesn't change within two months, we're done.'

She hears the door close as Vivian steps into the room. A sudden weight on the bed causes her to crack an eye open as she sees Vivian sitting down at the foot of the bed.

'Please get off my bed.'

Vivian lets out a small smile. 'Please don't call me Vivi. Lorissa's picking up your habits.'

Athenril laughs. 'I'm not fully convinced that's a bad thing.' She likes Lorissa; the kid's good on her feet and her mind's sharp. She's got potential.

'Maybe.' Vivian sighs, staring down at her feet. 'I was hoping you wouldn't say that. About our situation, I mean.' Athenril knows how much this means to Vivian. Security is tight on everything coming in and out of Kirkwall. While it makes her job harder, she gets to charge more for her services, so it evens out in the end, and has the side-benefit of keeping slavers out.

Well, mostly out at least. Darktown still has them walking freely because the guard wants nothing to do with Darktown. Of course, it's hard to hide bodies when the guards have seen every trick in the book, every fake compartment that people have ever tried, but that's never stopped anyone from trying. She supposes that it's worked at least a couple of times, otherwise the slavers wouldn't keep coming back.

Either that or most of the guard are the corrupt bastards that she knows they are. Athenril admits it's useful to slip in a bribe or two at times, but it still feels much too easy.

She gets up, sits next to Vivian and places an arm around her. She hasn't been tensing up at contact for a couple of months, which is good to see. 'I'll think of something. Fish up some old contacts, look around for a couple more jobs. Call up some people who owe me. We've survived for two years since you've come along, we'll just take it one step at a time.'

'Haven't you already been doing that?'

'Well, lets just say these are last resorts. People I...' She hesitates, '...would really rather not dealing with, that sort of thing.' It was an understatement to say the least, but she didn't need to know that.

Vivian gives her an odd look. 'Oh, don't worry. I don't mean slavers. Or the Coterie.' Athenril adds hastily. She would never forgive herself for doing either of those. Neither would Vivian, and to be honest, Athenril isn't quite sure if she could survive if Vivian decided she wanted to kill her. She was ridiculously good with those daggers of hers all things considered.

The two are silent for a few minutes. Athenril's happy for some rest, while Vivian seems lost in thought. Athenril's noted that the girl tends to drift off sometimes, like she's in her own world. It takes a fair bit to wake her and she always apologises for it afterwards. Athenril doesn't blame her for them; probably some nightmares that she refuses to divulge in her, and for good reason. She's heard of the things that happen in Tevinter, and while technically frowned upon by society...

Well, polite company has never stopped someone from stabbing others in the back.

'What do you think will happen?' Vivian asks quietly, looking towards Athenril. 'If we're forced to shut down?' Athenril doesn't want to think of that possibility, but she's not stupid. She also doesn't want to think of the consequences, but there always needs to be a backup plan.

'We won't shut down. I'll figure something out.' She tries to sound reassuring, confident. She can hear the cracks in her voice, the wavering of her lip. She doesn't believe herself. It's not working.

* * *

Vivian sits herself down on top of one of the buildings at the docks. It's easy enough to climb, but tall enough that no-one can see her. Looking out at the ocean at sunset is calming, to a degree.

But she's not calm. Not now, when everything she's been working on, working for these last two years has the potential to crumble down within the next two months. She's made herself a home, an actual home. Sure, she was partaking in illegal smuggling and constantly fought with the local thieves... and tried to evade what slavers did make it into Kirkwall...

Well, at least it beat running.

_**'We may need to go to our last resort next month.'**_

Vivian doesn't like it. The last resort is bad. It's foolish. Borderline suicidal, actually. But at this point, she's tempted to agree that it may be necessary.

Vivian was mostly used to the occasional intrusions by now. She learned a lot of things about Illice, as the demon preferred to be called, in these last few days. She (Vivian wasn't exactly sure if demons had, or understood the concept of gender, but it was easier for her to see Illice as a she) rarely spoke when others were around. She would only talk when she wanted to; Vivian had yet to coax her into a conversation.

She tries to block everything out. Just stare at the ocean. At the boats slowly making their way in. Docking. Unpacking crates. At the small waves lapping at the edge of the docks, at the larger way making their way to the Gallows-

No. No. Nooooo. Vivian had been in the Gallows once, and that was definitely more than enough. The heavy Templar presence was enough for her to worry, the heavier than usual Tevene influence on architecture left her anxious, and the statues had made her want to throw up.

A small scraping noise on the side of the building makes Vivian turn her head. A voice soon joins.

'-on't worry. Nobody knows about this spot.' A head pops it's way into view, taking a second before he notices her. 'It's absolutely per- perfect... oh. Um. Well then.' Damian pulls himself up to the balcony, followed shortly by Lorissa who looks equally as confused. 'This is, uh... Hi Vivian.'

'...Hi.' Vivian says.

* * *

Three pairs of legs dangle over the edge of the building at the docks.

'So Vivi,' Lorissa says, 'We don't know anything about you. C'mon, lets hear something, anything.'

Damian nods. 'You know I came from the Dalish tribe at Sundermont. You're not from the Dalish camp, and Lorissa says you weren't born in the Alienage, cause she played with the kids there all the time... what were you doing before you came to Kirkwall?'

Vivian is conflicted. She doesn't want to tell them, she's worked so hard on getting her common tongue just right, to hide everything, but Athenril says to her that she needs to talk more to others. To open up.

The elf and the human are staring at her, waiting for an answer that she isn't sure she'll give.

Eventually, she caves in. 'Running away.'

'Hmm. I suppose I can understand that.' Damian says. 'I ran away from the Dalish because I didn't want the life they gave to me. Too much tradition, too much restriction.'

Vivian frowns. 'Did your family hurt you?'

He shrugs. 'Well, not really. It was just sort of like... they were there, I guess? They had expectations, ones I didn't want to fill, but I suppose they weren't bad. What about you?'

Vivian wishes she had a real family. The family she had, well, that was another story.

'Could have been better.' She says. It's enough for now.

Damian and Lorissa look like they're about to protest the answer when they hear shouts from the docks below.

Boats. Dozens of them.

Hundreds of them.

Vivian stands up. 'I'm heading to Athenril's.'

The two still look completely confused. 'Um... Vivi? What's happening?'

'The Fereldans are here.'

* * *

'Gamlen. Where. Is. The. Coin?'

Gamlen backs off from her as she advances into his house.

'Look, look, I don't exactly have the coin.' Athenril scowls at Gamlen before he holds up his hands.  
'But, uh, just let me explain.'

Athenril slams the door shut behind her. 'Don't try my patience.'

Gamlen snatches up a piece of paper from his desk and thrusts it into Athenril's hands. 'My sister ran away when I was younger. Went and eloped off to Ferelden. And now the Blight's forcing her to come back with her children.'

Athenril reads the letter. What Gamlen is saying is true. Though... 'I don't see how this helps.'

'When Leandra and her children arrive, Kirkwall isn't going to let them in. So, I figure that they'll be willing to work for their entry pass. And my dear sister Leandra. She married an apostate.'

Athenril is suddenly a lot happier with her prospects of success within the next two months.

* * *

A/N: Updated to fix a name issue + added a bit more stuff.


	3. Chapter 2: Nervous

Marian is nervous. Perhaps not as nervous as the moment right before the army was ready to charge against the darkspawn at Ostagar, not as nervous as when a dragon flew out of the sky, and definitely not as nervous as the moment that she and Carver realised that holy shit Loghain just left us to die we're so fucked so very very fucked.

But nervous nonetheless.

Then Athenril opens the door.

She was expecting gruff men, a hardened veteran of an old war who lost an eye, a limb, something. She instead finds a couple of kids a few years younger than Bethany sitting at a table eating lunch, a few curious heads poking up towards them before descending back onto their food.

'Come on, this way.' Athenril says, gesturing to a door over at the far side of the warehouse.

Marian peers around as they walk. The entry area seems to be a joint kitchen and dining room, storing food supplies while also holding enough room for people to eat. Past that are storage areas; crates of all sizes are stacked upon each other, each marked and ready to deliver out the large gate at the front of the building. As they passed the next door, she could see rows of bunk beds, a few of which were occupied.

When they reach the far door, Athenril unlocks it with a small key that she hid somewhere on her, before gesturing the three of them to enter.

Marian sees a small bed in the corner, a desk in the centre of the room covered in papers, a few crates under the desk and a small cabinet against a wall. It... reminds her, of her old room, actually. The room isn't anything special; most of it is bare, there's nothing fancy about it.

It's nice to know your boss isn't the type to waste coin.

'Alright, before anything else, I want to lay out some ground rules, things you need to know, stuff like that.' Athenril says, spreading a large piece of paper over the desk. Marian peers at it, finding a detailed map of Kirkwall, full with little marks and symbols in seemingly random places. 'The places marked with 'S' are our safehouses; if you ever get too much heat on the job, hide out in there for the night then get back here in the morning as soon as you can.'

Marian sees three of these safehouses, one in darktown, one in lowtown and one in hightown, each with a small instruction on how to enter without being seen. There are a few more scattered around the map, but those seem to be crossed out.

'The places marked 'C' are known Coterie hangouts. Avoid crossing paths while on the job.' Athenril pauses. 'Actually, just avoid them full stop. The Coterie's bad news all round.'

'Um, what exactly is the Coterie?' Bethany asks.

'Largest criminal organisation in Kirkwall, got their tiny little paws in everything.' Athenril responds. 'Used to just be a small thieves guild, the Sabrathan were the real power, but then there was some infighting, general conflict, power plays, and well, lets just say they aren't around anymore. Coterie saw the opportunity and jumped on it, and they've been here ever since.'

Athenril frowns. 'They're actually the biggest problem we have. Slip the guardsmen a coin or two and they'll look the other way. The Coterie will take your coin and then beat you to death.'

'You make it sound as if the guardsmen are corrupt.' Aveline says, the distaste clear on her tongue.

'When your family is living in Lowtown on scraps, you take whatever you can from wherever you can.' Athenril shrugs. 'Just a fact of life here. You saw the kids at the entrance right? Most of them are orphans, they've got to feed themselves somehow. Everyone's out for themselves because if you aren't, you're done.'

Someone knocks on the door.

'Come in.' Athenril calls.

The door clicks open, and the elf behind it lets herself in. Marian notes how... ordinary she looks. Dirty blonde hair cut roughly at her shoulders, slightly shorter than average, and face that wasn't stunning nor ugly. If it wasn't for the weathered leather armour she wore, or the two large daggers, ones that were almost long enough to be considered short swords, at her side, Marian would have never been able to pick her out from a crowd.

'This is Vivian; she's the second-in-command here,' Athenril says. 'She handles most of the protection of our assets, alongside any other things that pop up from time to time.'

'Hi.' Vivian says.

Not much of a conversationalist, Marian dryly notes.

'Right now we have three groups of three that can fight. Vivian usually helps out wherever we need it, but for the first week I'll have her tag along with you three, so she can explain what you need to do, how to do it, all the regular stuff.' Athenril paused, looking over at Bethany, Aveline's large stature and Marian's massive broadsword she hung on her back. 'To be honest, we're going to be using you on the dangerous jobs, the ones where the Coterie are likely to strike, or whatever needs more firepower at the time. We've been on the back foot for a while, and it's about time we strike back.'

Aveline purses her lips. 'So we'll _only _be fighting against the Coterie?'

'Hm. Can't give any guarantees at the moment, but unless something goes seriously wrong, it'll be pretty much just the Coterie, yes. Maybe the occasional blood mage, seems to be a few popping up here and there, but don't worry, you won't have to deal with any of the city guards or templar. Best not to kick the hornet's nest when it comes to them.'

Aveline sighs. 'I suppose i'm alright with that, but know that I don't plan on staying for longer than I need to here.'

'I expected as much.' Athenril says, before turning back to the map. 'Anyway, we got sidetracked for a bit, didn't we, so lets get back to business. The markings here indicate...'

* * *

Bethany opens her eyes to a hazy sky tinted by green, a smattering of farm buildings and that bridge she always hated. It's nothing new by this point but it's always unnerving, and she's generally carved out her own little spot which she doesn't dare leave. The reminder of her lost home doesn't sit well with her. Of lost... everything. She'll just close her eyes, and think happy thoughts. Like pastries that the family used to eat all the time. Or perhaps Marian helping her get back at Carver after one too many injustices. How they were in Kirkwall now, abandoning Carver's corpse rotting in a ditch. How Gamlen was there to greet them at the locked gates. Finding out that he had gambled away the entire Amell fortune and was left with a decrepit little 'home' while she was left to work off his debt with Marian and Aveline.

Hm.

Bethany starts to think that maybe happy thoughts are becoming harder to come by. She reminds herself to file some away for later when she kills more of the thugs that are inevitably sent after them. Sometimes she tries to pretend that they're all Gamlen, or at least extremely convincing Gamlen look-a-likes. Obviously this is fairly impossible; both in the attempting to convince her eyes that she's seeing what she isn't actually seeing and the fact that these thugs cannot all be Gamlen, but it helps with the conscience nonetheless. Bethany is somewhat convinced that Marian tries to do the same.

**'Hello, Bethany.'**

Slow, sultry voice. A tinge of echo. Somewhat familiar but completely foreign.

Bethany bolts upright with wide eyes, grabbing the staff on her back. It's been a long time since a demon has tried to invade her dreams and she'll be damned if her guard falls now. She concentrates on the small figure in the distance, a thrumming heat building up inside of her. The familiar power builds up, a burning feeling starting in her chest and spreading outwards. Her vision tinges red, her arms moving through the practised motions before releasing everything in a flaming ball of destruction towards the bridge. The fire impacts and bursts outwards with a roar, the smoke completely covering her view.

Bethany waits for it all to clear. Contrary to popular belief, most demons are fairly weak; at least the ones still stuck in the fade, she supposes. Either that or her father was a much more powerful mage than he let on.

The demon walks out of the smoke, a finger slowly wagging at her as the flickering spell shield surrounding it dissipates.

**'Now now, is that any way to treat a guest?' **

Bethany's jaw almost drops, and her grip on the staff slackens. Unharmed is bad. Unharmed is very, very bad. Unharmed hasn't happened since she was first attempting to learn the finer points of magic. Her wavering self-discipline eventually pulls through, and she keeps her weapon up, eyes narrowing.

'Your definition of guest appears to be vastly different than mine.' She spits out. 'Leave.'

The demon closes the distance in a few seconds, standing just out of arm's reach. Bethany i tempted to fire another barrage of magic, but she supposes that any supposed chance she had of actually hurting the demon would be vastly lower than the chance (inevitable) of the explosion hurting her. Common wisdom against demons vastly stronger than you were was to flee, but, well, that wasn't exactly the most viable of options now.

The demon stares at her, a curious... look... that can't be.

**'After all this trouble I went to? I would be offended if most demons weren't the possess first, ask questions later sort.' **It smirks.

It _smirk__s._

Spirits don't understand humour.

_**Demons**_ don't understand humour.

Bethany straightens out her thoughts. That's a question for later. 'And you are not?' She asks, with as much confidence as she can muster.

Not that the amount is currently above 'much', but it's the thought that counts.

**"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about it." **It says, ** I'm already taken."**

"_You're_ taken?" She asks incredulously, crossing her arms. "I wasn't aware that Tevinter's mages were working on their summer projects. What's next, forming literal gateways into the fade out of blood and stone?"

**'I'm sure they've tried.' **It responds, a small hint of amusement coursing through the words.

Bethany seethes. "That's not the point and you know it!" She shouts, pointing her staff back at the demon. "_You're _taken? What is it exactly, pray tell, that makes _you _the taken one?"

**'You misunderstand. Both of us are... content with our situation. I am theirs, and they are mine.'**

Bethany raises her staff up to the demon's face. 'Then why are you here?'

It ignore the staff, then smiles, and Bethany scowls. She'd take on a whole army of lesser demons if it meant getting rid of the annoyingly smug look on this one's face. The army, she could deal with at least. It would be tiring as all hell and she'd probably collapse from exhaustion afterwards, but she could deal with it in the usual way; by flinging fire and ice onto the problem until it disappeared.

**'I just wanted to greet the newest mage to arrive in Kirkwall. Is that so hard to believe?'**

'Quite frankly, yes.'

A low rumble comes out from its throat, permeating into the air like small shockwaves. She feels it under her skin, ringing in her ears. The grin that's plastered onto the demon's face almost looks feral.

So that's what a demon's laugh sounds like.

**'If I had wanted to hurt you, I would be talking of a better life, in a new home, one where your brother was still alive.'**

Bethany's breath hitches.

The town around her shimmers slowly, like the distortion of summer heat. Bethany steps away from the demon, looking around at the shifting fade. Walls slowly form all around her, and she finds herself in her old house's dining room, but everything looks a bit... nicer. The room is a bit larger, the walls aren't starting to crack, and all the furniture is shining and polished. She can see the table all set and plates full of food. Orlesian pastries, Fereldan soups, even a selection of rare meats from the Anderfels.

The demon takes a step closer to Bethany. '**You would all be sitting around your table, you, Marian, Carver and Leandra, having the most marvelous of meals.'**

On cue, the chairs are filled with shimmering light before the familiar forms of her siblings and mother filled up the spaces. She can't hear them, but it looks like Carver is talking loudly – probably making one of his stupid jokes that he always did- and Marian is sitting in her chair with the largest smile on her face, trembling just a bit, trying not to laugh. And mother-

She's smiling.

Bethany can't remember the last time that her mother has smiled.

**'No Blight. No darkspawn. No Kirkwall, and no greedy, stupid Uncles. All of you would be happy.' **It places its arms around her neck and leans forward to whisper in her ear. '**And then, I would tell you to surrender to me.'**

Bethany nods.

Yes. This was perfect. This was amazing. She would do whatever she needed to make this real. She would listen to the silky, luscious voice, the voice bringing her such ecstacy. She would do whatever it says...

And then everything crumbles around her.

Bethany's glazed eyes widen in shock. Sharp, stinging clarity returns to her in an instant.

The demon removes its arms from around her neck, pushes her back a step. She turns around to find the demon's gaze on her; studying her, looking deep within her.

**'But none of that would be real now, would it?' **It purrs. '**I would have lied to you, lied over and over and over. And that's not what you want, is it? You don't want your blissful ignorance, you want your proper happy ending. And that's something I just can't give.'**

Bethany is still thinking of what could have been.

What should have been.

**'It seems my time is up. Well, your time is up.' **It turns, walks away into the fade. Bethany wants to say something, but her mouth isn't moving.** 'I'll be keeping an eye out for you...' **

Bethany feels the pull of reality on her, grasping around her arms, legs, her chest.

She lets it carry her out.

* * *

'Someone's up early.'

Bethany stumbles around the room, trying to find Marian with her sleep-weary eyes; a few near misses with the wall convinces her to sit back down on the floor, leaning on the bed frame until her morning exhaustion clears.

'Yeah, well, had some things to think about,' she responds. Not what Marian thinks she's thinking about, of course, but telling her about the strange demon who appeared, talked to her, then _just left_ probably wouldn't be received well. Although she has been thinking about the obvious, as well.

Marian takes a seat next to her, a familiar smile on her face. 'Think about it more, it'll stop me having to pour water on you in the morning.'

Bethany shivers at the memory of the cold chill going down her neck. 'You're just being... you, aren't you? You wanted an excuse to do that.'

'Bethy, you could sleep through Carver's snoring,' Marian says. 'We're short an alarm now, someone has to pick up the slack.'

She tries, she really tries, but she can't help herself. She has to cover her mouth to stop the sound of her snickering from waking up the rest of the house, and before long Marian joins in.

'I... I really shouldn't be laughing at this...' She manages to splutter out once her breathing returns to normal.

Marian's face drops, her smile evaporating in an instant. 'Yeah, sorry. That was a bit uncalled for, wasn't it.'

The image of Carver alive and well back in the fade comes to the front of Bethany's mind. 'I don't think Carver would mind. He was always the one telling the awful jokes.'

Marian manages to perk up a bit. 'Remember that time that Carver tried to woo that farm girl by telling a bad joke about the stuffy templar stationed in Lothering, only for the templar to turn up behind him and tell him she was his daughter?'

Bethany smiles. 'I remember how he tried to tell us how he was 'defending my honour' before mother told him to stop being ridiculous and giving him double chores for the week.'

'Good times.'

The two sit in silence, both unwilling to get up. Bethany takes the time to look around their room. Small, cramped, old storage area that now had two small mats laid out on the floor for the two to sleep on. The bed no longer had any matresses, and was basically just a pile of planks that wasn't collapsing on itself. The whole place stunk of dead... something, the two could never decide on what exactly it was. Probably better not to find out, to be honest. Apart from that...

Well, it was pretty terrible, but then again, so was the rest of Gamlen's house.

It was still hard to believe that this was all that was left of the grand Amell fortune. A small, sad little section of a building carved from stone. The old Amell estate was lost to slavers over debt and a poor hand of cards, and Bethany couldn't tell if Marian wanted to strangle Gamlen for losing the estate or for leaving his sister in utter despair.

She's still not sure what to think of Athenril though. Sure, all of their work is completely illegal (a fact that Aveline continues to remind them of), highly dangerous and there is always the chance that Bethany's face would be remembered and the templars would receive some sort of anonymous tip about a rogue mage living in Lowtown...

But other than that, it wasn't too bad. She could tell Athenril cared for the people she hired as long as they didn't do anything stupid or pissed her off. It was like one big family, one that was trying to survive any way it could. The kids weren't bratty or annoying, and Bethany saw the homeless ones on the streets. She could say without a doubt that it was better for Athenril's lot.

The second-in-command, Vivian, didn't really talk too much, but she was professional in both demeanour and skills while on the job. Sometimes she caught the elf giving her a slightly strange look, but that was probably just her being unused to firsthand magic. It was one thing to hear tales of fireballs and blizzards, and another to see them with your own eyes.

Speaking of which, Bethany is getting a lot of practice in with those.

Athenril wasn't kidding when she told them how much of a problem the Coterie was.

Bethany is beginning to think that how used she is to the smell of burning flesh is not a good sign.

She's roused out of her thoughts when Marian stands up and tugs on her arm. 'Come on, Bethy. We've got another day of wonderful, wonderful work ahead of us. Maybe this will be the day that the Coterie aren't a problem!'

Bethany smiles. Her sister has a terrible sense of humour.

* * *

A/N: So um yeah. I guess I decided to work on this again. First two chapters got revised slightly, and I think I can do these chapters consistently from here on out, at least once a week. No guarantees though.


End file.
